


Minor Civil Servant (and Younger Sibling)

by undun



Series: Losing and Gaining [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘My name is Paul Brown.’ He hopes that saying it will make it true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minor Civil Servant (and Younger Sibling)

**Author's Note:**

> A coda to 'Gaining, Slowly'. The conversation that had to happen between Mycroft and Paul. Circa 2015.
> 
> WARNING: Paul had an unhappy childhood - there is reference to past abuse.

Paul tipped the contents of the large envelope on to the coffee table. ‘So, this is all mine?’  
  
‘Yes, it is. Including your original birth certificate which your father, for reasons we can only imagine at this point, sought to bury,’ Mycroft said.  
  
Paul pushed the papers out, spreading them on the table to skim the contents. He picked the birth certificate out from various official-looking medical statements, adoption forms…  
  
‘Havelock  _Holmes?_ ’ Paul gasped.  
  
Yes,’ came Mycroft’s measured response.  
  
‘You’re my fa–’  
  
‘Brother,’ Mycroft assured him quickly. ‘The man you had always assumed was your stepfather was in fact your biological father.’  
  
The statement sat like an unexploded bomb in the room. Paul dropped the certificate on the coffee table and sat staring into nothing. He swallowed noisily.  
  
‘Fuck.’  
  
‘Quite,’ Mycroft agreed softly. ‘I doubt that it will help much, but I believe there was some undiagnosed mental illness involved.’  
  
Mycroft looked on in concern as Paul stood and walked to the window. ‘What he did was evil. I was fortunate that I had left for school before he had deteriorated to such an extent. Sherlock,’ he sighed before continuing, ‘…was not as fortunate. You and he have been cruelly victimised by our father.’  
  
‘My name is Paul Brown.’  
  
‘Of course. It is your legal name, and shall be so until you wish it otherwise. I have spoken to Sherlock and he agrees that our sibling relationship need not be made common knowledge.’  
  
Mycroft’s shoulders dropped slightly when Paul returned to his chair and sat once more, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.  
  
‘I suppose that works both ways, dunnit?’ Paul said, no longer watching his accent.  
  
‘I’m sorry?’ Mycroft’s eyebrows rose slightly.  
  
‘Well, what an embarrassment I would be to the family name, eh?’ Paul said with a bitter laugh. ‘Maybe I should try a spot of extortion, meself?’  
  
Mycroft leant back in his chair. His face betrayed an instant of distress before he schooled his features once again. ‘Paul, you have a trust fund. There is no need to extort money from anyone.’  
  
‘What?’ Paul’s shock was almost as painful as his bitterness. He had obviously never expected anything but bad treatment from family members.  
  
‘Sherlock and I drew up the agreement months ago. You are to get the balance of the estate in the event of our deaths. Though,’ Mycroft allowed a smirk of amusement, ‘– I should warn you that it includes a per annum payment to one John Watson for the sum of 100,000 pounds should he survive us.’  
  
Paul’s mouth hung open. Mycroft went for the kill.  
  
‘I shouldn’t concern yourself over that – it hardly touches the annual interest on the capital.’  
  
‘Fuck.’ Paul’s eyes had gone quite round.  
  
‘Quite.’ Mycroft allowed a brief smile of satisfaction. True satisfaction was so very hard to come by. This interview was getting terribly close. ‘In the interim, should you need any lump some payments to be made – the purchase of a car or house, for instance – simply contact our accountant and convey the details to him.’ Mycroft held out a business card. Paul took it with lax fingers.  
  
‘Fuck,’ he said yet again.  
  
Mycroft stood, preparing to leave. ‘Take a short break after you receive your results. I’ll expect you at my office in, say, three months? Until then, perhaps a holiday with Mr Alstrom?’  
  
Paul nodded slowly still looking at the business card. Mycroft gestured with his umbrella. ‘Barny will sort out the funds for you before you go.’  
  
Paul stood up, swaying slightly. ‘Listen, I–’  
  
‘ _Please…_  don’t apologise. For being yourself, or for being angry just now. For anything. You can’t imagine – how could you – how desperately proud we are and how happy we both are to have found you.’ Mycroft peered at Paul’s face. ‘You really can’t, can you?’ he asked softly.  
  
Paul shook his head. ‘The only one… John was the only one, until Terence.'  
  
‘Hm, well, you know what they say, don’t you?’  
  
Paul shrugged. ‘If at first you don’t succeed,’ Mycroft raised a hand to Paul’s shoulder, gripping it lightly, ‘try again,’ he murmured. He turned to leave.  
  
‘Mr… Uh, Mycroft?’  
  
‘Yes?’ he turned around.  
  
‘Thanks.’  
  
‘You’re welcome, Havelock.’  
  
Mycroft ducked in the doorway as a worn slipper sailed over his head. He left the flat chuckling silently. The word ‘tosser’ was audible overhead. ‘On occasion,’ he whispered to himself as he entered the black car at the curb.  
  
  
~end


End file.
